Page 13 of The Knucker King

The midwife blinked several times, ridding herself of the double vision, before focusing on the girl. The child’s mouth had dropped open in shock, and tears silvered in the corners of her crumpled eyes. Avice dropped her gaze to the floor, where a polished wooden cup sat cracked, broken, and useless. She brushed her shaking fingers to the egg growing rapidly on her temple. Avice sucked through her teeth at the contact, the spot throbbing.

She grimaced. “See what I mean? Dangerous.”

Nell nodded quickly. “Yes, dangerous.”

Avice watched as Nell swooped down and gathered the cup, then stepped over to the table and placed it quietly there. The girl then set right the chair and broom.

“If you want to bond to a Faerie,” the midwife continued, “you must make sure you are of age, and you know them well.”

“Yes, Miss Avice.” Nell agreed, looking down at her wringing hands. “Why do you have to be of age?”

“Children are easier to steal.”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock. “The Good Neighbours really take children and babies?”

“Of course, all tales have rings of truth in them,” Avice explained. “One of the reasons why the villagers turned to God and away from the Good Neighbours is because of that. If they did not keep up their offerings, the woods and fields would no longer be blessed, and their children would be taken as payment instead.”

Nell trembled and her lips tugged downwards.

“Oh, darling. I am sorry, but you needed to know,” Avice said, her aching temple turning into a full-blown headache. “And because you are one of the few children born in recent times with the sight, the Good Neighbours want you even more.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Bramble trotted back inside the cottage. Avice caught a glint of sky-blue blood on his nose before he licked it away with his tongue.

She will not do that again, the Grim assured. If the pup wants a game. He wagged his tail and tilted his head at Nell. I will gladly play with her while you finish your breakfast preparations.

It had slipped Avice’s mind, only she and the Good Neighbours could hear the Grim’s voice. She relayed Bramble’s message, and Nell’s tear-stained face broke out in a wide, toothy grin. The pair went bounding outside, nearly flattening John as he entered the cottage with a stack of kindling in his strong arms.

He dropped the wood near the hearth, and a delighted chime from Ashling spread a smile over his face. John straightened up, brushing the splinters from his cloak, before turning to Avice.

His jaw dropped. “What happened?!”

John reached, brushing the tips of his gloved fingers over the bruised egg on the side of her head. Avice winced, a grimace passing over her face. The fisherman blinked, before abruptly dropping his arm, seemingly remembering propriety.

“A Pillywiggin,” Avice began, unhooking the cauldron from above the hearth with a scrap of cloth protecting her fingers from the heat. “She was getting a little too familiar with Nell. Possessive. When I warned her, the Pillywiggin threw a cup at my head.”

She placed it onto the table. John stifled a snort as he ladled three cups of elderflower and chamomile tea from the steaming cauldron.

“It is not funny, Jonathan!” Avice exclaimed. He was the only man in the village she knew she was safe to speak her mind to. “Both of us, but particularly you, should have warned her more firmly about the Good Neighbours.”

He dropped his head. “I apologise. As always, you are right. I am her brother, and her guardian. I should have warned her.”

Avice gave him a curt nod before turning to hang a different cauldron over the hearth. Ashling rested amongst the coals as he snacked on another crumb the midwife had tossed at him. Avice dropped a dollop of lard in the pan, then promptly fried slice after slice of the bread.

She glanced out of the open shutters. Hardly breakfast anymore, her stomach protested loudly. More like lunch. When did I last eat?

Finally, they sat down at the table. Just as Avice was about to call Nell in, John stopped her. She frowned at the fisherman, his hand on her arm, as he thoughtfully chewed some bread. It seemed to the midwife that he was carefully choosing his words.

John swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “What day is it, Avice?”

She sipped her tea, sweet and floral as it went down, furrowing her brow at her friend. “I do not know what you mean?”

“It is the Lord’s Day. Sunday. Did you hear the bells for service this morning?”

Avice took a chomp of bread, finally responding to the growls coming from her stomach. It was deliciously flavoured from the lard, and even softer from the frying. It melted on her tongue and slid down easily.

“I did not,” she responded. “I attended Goodwife Joan and had to deal with her sick daughter all last night and day. I did not even awaken and have my second sleep. I only woke when you knocked on my door.”

Another bite, and she had to stop herself from closing her eyes in bliss.